by John Olsen
Gavin said, “Right. We discussed our plans yesterday.”
Tover said, “But sir, you have obligations. You can’t just make plans, then break her heart like that.”
Gavin stopped and backtracked in the conversation, mystified. He adjusted the stiff collar. “Like what? She and Willem agreed to be my chief crystal trainers.”
Tover’s mouth opened, then closed as his eyebrows raised. “Oh. Right then, good sir. Never you mind then.”
Draken turned to Tover. “Did you think that –”
Tover put his hands out defensively. “Oh, no. It was nothing. Forget it. Children don’t tell their own fathers nothing any more. I’ll have to redo the whole talk now for Willem.”
Before Gavin could figure out what Tover was talking about, Draken grinned and said, “Besides, His Majesty here has been taken care of by our treaty team.”
Gavin stepped away and glanced between the two men. “Wait. Did you think that Saleena and I ...? What about the treaty team?” Everything came at him at once and overloaded his ability to think. His shirt was scratchy, too.
Draken pointed to a long document on the polished table. “King Ithan nearly peed himself when we told him the Cats of the Apocalypse are part of the formal guard for the treaty signing. I think he and most of his men have never actually seen the cats, aside from the wounds they left on his men. Rumors from King Ithan’s men are that we trained something akin to invisible mountain lions. Some of the men will be in bandages for weeks. He’s only heard that horrific triple yowl of theirs, like some hideous three-headed monster.
“You’ll want to read that treaty before you sign it. Your treaty committee decided the only way to seal the peace and keep Ithan from invading again is for you to marry his daughter. She’s about your age, so all the better. I hear she’s clever, too. Well, the committee had some input from me on that point, but they wrote it into the treaty on their own. Once the princess is delivered here, and the proper covenants are made, her father will be free to return home. It’s not much different from the baronial agreements where children are married off for land, trade, or power. This is merely on a bigger scale.”
Gavin sat back down. “It’s like a nightmare. Not only do people act in my name without my permission, but they’ve also taken over every part of my life without even a by-your-leave. I thought this would take longer. I won’t be able to so much as pretend to decide anything for myself by the end of the day.”
Draken said, “What did you think you were getting yourself into, sir? Good leaders give themselves to their people, and you’ve done that. Most of the people out there will give themselves in service, however you call on them, because they trust you. You’ve also gained their love along the way. This is what you are meant to do.”
A distant chime sounded to signal Gavin’s entrance into the courtyard, and Gavin jumped to his feet and tugged the collar away from his neck.
Draken bowed as he waved toward the door. “Your people need you now, sir.”
Gavin clamped a hand on Draken’s shoulder and nodded. He smiled nervously as he marched out through the double doors into the courtyard to meet and claim his people as their new king, and for his people to claim him. The clouds in the sky still floated like dreams, teasing him and out of reach, but new dreams filled his heart, all within his grasp. The crowd roared as he strode into view.
The quiet of night filled the castle as the pooka padded down narrow secret paths wearing the black cat known as Doom Bringer. The animal’s name could prove accurate, but only time would tell as events of the long game played out. But now it was time to fulfill a promise made long ago and prepare for his next move.
The animal was surprisingly easy to control, even with the interference of the crystal worn at its neck. He arched his back and stretched, exposing his claws. They were the claws of a predator, and the animal’s keen reflexes told of their regular use. The animal had been trained far beyond its natural inclinations. Most beasts the pooka had encountered over the past centuries were driven by masters who used brute force and rigid control. Mankind had lived and died by force for so long, it was easy to lose hope. Few had the patience for the finesse shown by this cat’s master.
No, this was more than skill in training. Deep within, the cat not only cared for its master, but it was also fiercely dedicated to him and proud to serve. This mutual empathy was one of the prized goals of the pookas. If the humans learned to feel for and understand others, even animals, they would be stronger.
The pooka squeezed out of the hidden passage and into a hall lined with closed doors, simple in design. The floor was clean and well-worn by centuries of passing feet. Near the end of the hall, the light of a small lantern escaped around the edges of a door with a gap at the bottom. A man inside breathed, but not with the sounds of slumber.
The task ahead was unpleasant but necessary. The pooka steeled himself and slipped along the edge of the hallway, peering under the door to see if this was the human he was after.
An involuntary purr escaped his throat, driven by the cat at the sight of the man seated on a stool reading from a book. The pooka allowed the sound to continue and looked deeper through the cat’s feelings to search for this man. Brother Cleo. Yes, this was the one. He slipped under the door.
The man set his book aside on a rough wooden shelf. “Hello, Doom Bringer. What brings you here?” He scratched the top of the cat’s head, increasing the rumbling in the animal’s throat.
The pooka rallied his control, and with extreme effort formed words, awkward with the animal’s tongue. “I bring him to speak with you.”
The man’s eyes widened. “I see. I am honored by your visit. My master’s master spoke of you when I was a boy. He raised me to follow the path.” The man stood, and bowed with a hand over his heart before he placed his hands together, fingers pointed outward.
This man was barely middle-aged for his kind, but he had been taught the proper responses with an accuracy beyond most human abilities. It was a relief to have finally found him. Better than that, he was a fine resource for the Trial.
The Priests of Order had long been the contacts among humans for the pookas. The techniques and plans to cut crystals were first shown to the priests, who had passed the information to the Crystal Kings in an age gone by. The priests considered the relationship a good match to their divine obligations as they cared for mankind’s spiritual needs. They protected the people, and the pookas provided a tool for their work.
With guidance and occasional help from the pookas, wars were fewer and more controlled in scope as the long-range plans progressed. Each pass through a Trial of Warfare, where the Accords were broken, brought them closer to a lasting peace. It was counter-intuitive, but the progress was clear as the humans slowly gained more and more crystals over the generations. As they controlled and worked through their animal servants, an underlying empathy grew along with the number of crystals created. The people grew marginally in wisdom with each Trial in a mixture of self-driven change and external influences. It was time to see if they needed a push.
The cat’s scratchy voice said, “We cross a tipping point in our plan. Will the plan lead to a stable state this time, or will men kill each other in vast numbers and start over as with past Trials?”
The man sat on his stool and rubbed his chin. “There is no question men will kill each other as they ever do. The Accords prevent many deaths between Trials, yet the people still shrink in numbers due to their continual violence.”
“Our eyes and ears are limited here. Will the Graven Kingdom be joined with Riland? It is their best hope to survive.”
The man frowned. “How could you have possibly set up the alliance between the kingdoms? The odds of success were horribly small.”
“The merger was the goal. A position of power has more chance of success. If it fails this generation, we will wait for the next. The winner was irrelevant.”
“No, it’s more relevant than ever. This time, your
champion and catalyst is King Gavin. He will defend his people out of love, and he will do anything to save them. He’s young and sometimes feels unworthy to lead, but he is a good man and an independent thinker. The people see that. He is to wed the Graven King’s daughter in the spring to seal a treaty. He didn’t even consider the possibility of executing King Ithan.”
Such empathy was a good sign, but it was clear the man before him worked at some hidden goal with his speech. The pooka waited patiently. He must decide to support this new king or put his efforts with another.
After a few moments of silence, Brother Cleo spoke again. “Something unusual has driven us to set aside the Accords this time. This Trial will be different.”
“What change? Our plans must account for change.” Unexpected events could set back or destroy generations of work and influences.
The man pulled a cord from his neck and held out a rough lump of stone. Its pattern drew the pooka in as he padded closer to look.
The crystal’s shape and symbols were crude and sparse, yet the stone resonated like the flawless faceted crystal at the cat’s neck. Its simplicity sang despite its alien coarseness. The tune was new and foreign to the pooka. He memorized its design as it twisted on a cord before his borrowed eyes.
He followed the stone’s wispy link and noticed the bird dozing in a cage above the man’s desk.
The cat’s voice strained to form words again. “This changes everything. It may be the last Trial no matter what we plan. Guard your king well, or this chance may be lost. Convince him the Accords are all forfeit. Use what he has discovered. I must go now.”
The pooka pulled his thoughts back to his body in a damp cavern far beneath the castle. If the humans could produce crystals a hundred times faster through their clever discovery, they would accelerate their own timeline with little intervention. For good or ill, crystals would be commonplace within a generation. Perhaps sooner. The final goal was centuries closer than expected if everything could be aligned in time.
The pookas’ capstone project must accelerate to match. To show the humans their own nature could be the key to an era of progress for humanity to propel them out of their endless wars. Done wrong, it could doom them. He slid through the rough cracks and seams to warn the others. The six pookas had steered the Crystal Kingdoms via their friendship with the Priests of Order for centuries. Now everything pivoted on months.
THE END
Acknowledgments
I must thank my earliest of readers on this story who saw it as a rough stone in need of polishing in an online critique forum. Ethan Motter, Velentino Bailon and Jim Mulcey gave me some great early feedback. At the next stage, some good friends who are also writers looked at it. Among that group are Jay Barnson and Jana Brown.
Jay and I regularly share information on short story markets, and we compete to see which of us will get into anthologies or magazines. We will share a table of contents for the first time this year. He encouraged me to submit the first short story I had published in this century. Part of my writing incentive comes from Writers of the Future winner Julie Frost who puts most short story writers to shame with the sheer number of stories she has out looking for a home at a given time.
Chuck Workman helped me with story elements as my content editor. Interestingly enough, Jana was assigned as my line editor, and she didn't even make me cry with her edits. She's also the reason the book has a map. Holli Anderson proofed the story and gave me some important feedback. The Immortal Works team has been great to work with.
I quite possibly would not have written this book if not for the strong local writing community and members of the League of Utah Writers who cheer me on. There may be something in the water here that produces great writers. Three examples of this wonderful community are Paul Genesse who always has something positive to say about anyone, Bob Defendi who believes everyone deserves to hear their name shouted with joy, and practices said shouting often, and Dave (DJ) Butler who gives back to the community by hosting a variety of events featuring the arts and sciences.
All of those groups pale compared to what I owe to my dear wife Kelly for her patience and encouragement.
About the Author
John M Olsen reads and writes fantasy, science-fiction, steampunk, and horror as the mood strikes, and his short fiction is part of several anthologies. He devoured his father’s library in his teen years and has since inherited that formidable collection and merged it with his own growing library hoping to pass a love of learning on to the next generation.
He loves to create things, whether writing novels or short stories or working in his secret lair equipped with dangerous power tools. In either case, he applies engineering principles and processes to the task at hand, often in unpredictable ways.
He lives near the Oquirrh Mountains in Utah with his lovely wife and a variable number of mostly grown children and a constantly changing subset of extended family.
Strap on some goggles and see his ramblings on his blog: https://johnmolsen.blogspot.com/
